


After The Fall

by syntheticrealities



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Au where Martin didn't die, Gen, something like this has probably been done already
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-04 17:26:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4146357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syntheticrealities/pseuds/syntheticrealities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corvo knows him, and he will never make the mistake of trusting him. But when the plague is over, and all is said and done, Corvo knows that Emily will come to meet him too-but what he doesn't know, is that she went looking for him instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After The Fall

Dunwall had been flayed and bled dry by the atrocities it had faced. Upheaval, plague and sour sea storms had scoured the golden paint from the bows of merchant vessels. They had dimmed the flickering tallow candles in the halls of the Abbey; they killed so, _so_ many.

And yet, they were still here. Corvo, and Emily. Samuel, the Curnows-Piero and Anton. For some of them, it was down to luck. For others, it was down to determination and skill and perhaps the idea that the salted sea wind blowing at their backs was a good thing. A week _after_ (Corvo saw no need to specify; everyone knew what he meant when he said _after_ ), the tides were already starting to turn in their favour. Spattered reports from those branches of the City Watch that had managed to band together and swear fealty to their young Empress spoke of how they were seeing fewer rats. Of how fish could be seen eeling up the canals. Of how wounds of all kinds appeared to be beginning to heal.

Corvo refused to believe them. It was simply too convenient. Either that, or he had simply seen too much to believe any longer in good luck and fortunes.

He had undoubtedly seen too much.

For some reason, he expected that he would have nightmares. He had dreams, yes- horrid dreams of killing and murder, of blood running between cobbles and of the things that lurk in the grimmer quarters of the city.

But not nightmares-those would come from him. Or at least, they would have done, if he had had any. His nights were unusually calm and undisturbed-rest finally settled upon him as lacy sea waves settled upon the shore. It was unexpected and it made Corvo wary, but he couldn't say that it was unwelcome. Now that no more dark deeds needed doing, he had time to grieve and reflect. Less and less often his gaze drifted to the mark on the back of his hand.

Time marched on. Dunwall began to repair itself, one fishing net and windowpane at a time. Corvo soon had too little time to worry about if and when the Outsider might visit him in his dreams, or elsewhere. He was too busy guarding Emily from the guile and misinformation her new courtiers were trying to feed her. There was no stink of rebellion such as had hung around the Spymaster, Corvo knew, but like seagulls, they were hungry and opportunistic. He had to work hard to keep Emily out of their pockets.

But the Tower had weathered the storms that have surrounded it well and work at once began to clean up the various messes from the halls. Corvo thought Emily would hate it there-that she would despise how it reminded her of Jessamine. But he was surprised to find quite the opposite; Emily was keen to return to her home, no matter the darkness that lingered over it. Three months after-was it really that long?-and all of the repair work and cleaning was complete. No sooner had the Empress's feet touched the floor from the carriage than she had hared up the steps and contrived to haul the massive doors open herself. Treasuring this small moment of an infancy Corvo knew she would very quickly grow out of, he assisted her and watched as she zipped down the halls and up the stairs, skittering and clattering on the shining marble floors.

It was not long before the Tower began to feel like home again. It unnerved him how easily he settled back into life there, in spite of Jessamine's murder there, and the Spymaster's (that had been at his hands). He still remembered where every cupboard and nook was. All the sorts of places where if one wanted to commune with deities not certified in the Strictures, one might collect the materials for an altar of sorts.

He didn't admit to himself that he wanted to see him again, because he didn't. But what he burned for, what he so desperately needed, was the fulfilment of a hopeless want. What Corvo wanted, was a promise. Just a glance into those ephemeral eyes, and the promise that he would leave her alone. He knew that the Outsider would do no such thing (one cannot ask promises of the sea) but he needed to try. So he gathered the bolts of dark silk, and combed the canals and breakwaters for those pieces of driftwood which he felt would be just right. In the loft of the Tower, something dangerous began to form.

He had taken every precaution to go unnoticed; no shifts with the guard were skipped, nor meals with Emily. His scavenging was done at dawn and at dusk and Samuel, as keen and shrewd as he was, missed not a moment of it. Corvo was at the mouth of the Wrenhaven when he heard the familiar _chug-chug-chug_ of the boat. Heart in mouth, he blinked behind a half-rotted breakwater and listened as the motor slowed, then coughed to a halt. Gulls shrieked overhead. Corvo sat as still as a gargoyle. For some reason, he didn't want Samuel to know that he was out there, or what he was doing. He didn't want to feel...Ashamed. There was a moment filled with the gentle hiss and splash of the sea before Samuel's rough voice rang out:

"Mister Corvo, sir, I know you're out here,"

Corvo's mind went blank for a moment before he scuffled the pebbles at his feet and ducked out from behind the breakwater. Samuel startled despite the noise. His face was different then, his mouth set in a slightly-uneasy half smile. As if he was having second thoughts about speaking about this. Corvo dragged his eyes up from the shoreline and Samuel held his gaze for a moment. Corvo saw the change from weary old man to proud seaman come over him; his shoulders drew up and his face hardened, as though he was trying to keep the salty spray of the sea from settling in the fine lines around his eyes.

Another moment filled with the sounds of the sea passed.

"I needed a break. From the Tower."

Samuel nodded slowly at that, understanding that Corvo meant a break from both the occupants and the memories of the great palace. He glanced down at his feet for a moment before looking out towards the blurry heat-shimmer of the horizon. Somewhere out there, the sludge-grey waters of the Wrenhaven changed into azuline waves, and then into the oblivious dark of the deep seas.

"Well, I needed a break from Callista and all of her nonsense."

"She still wants you to take a room at the Tower?"

"Me, and all the rest of us who didn't vanish off to Kingsparrow that night. Last time we talked she asked me if I needed a cane or any of that other old person stuff."

Despite himself, Corvo laughed and Samuel smiled gently before gesturing to a branch of driftwood by the shore. They sat down upon it and Corvo was careful not press Samuel, instead allowing him the time they had both missed where little nothing-stories were exchanged and anything else was carefully evaded. Their light-hearted banter lasted for a little while until a lull in the conversation arrived. Corvo sensed Samuel tense up beside him, even though he was absently watching a hermit crab look for a new shell by the breakwater.

There was a rustle of clothing and Samuel produced a whiskey flask from his pocket. Corvo waited patiently whilst he took a long sip from it.

"I know that you don't come down here just for the peace and quiet, Corvo."

A pause.

"No, I don't. But that is a part of it."

Samuel leaned back and ran a nail gently down the side of the flask. He seemed to be tasting his words before he said them, looking for just the right phrase.

"It almost seems like you're looking for something."

He met Corvo's guarded gaze from the side of his eye.

"And take it from an old sailor: there isn't anything worth having from out of the mud down here other than driftwood and...Old bones."

His words petered out when he saw that Corvo had something in his hands, something that murmured gently just on the edge of hearing. The bone charm looked small and plain in Corvo's hands, but Samuel's heart leapt uneasily at the sight of it anyway.

"Driftwood and bones can be useful in their own ways."

"Look, I don't know what you're wanting with-with _him_ anymore: when we were still working for the loyalists-" that was said with distaste, "-he, uh, gave you things. To help you, I suppose. You don't need him, or those things anymore, do you?"

Corvo turned the bone charm over, ran the pad of his thumb over the runes scratched into the back.

"No, I don't need them. But I do need to ask something of him."

Samuel was agape. All the tension in his body had been replaced with slack disbelief.

"That's ridiculous!-" he rephrased after a shrewd glance from the Lord Protector, "...Unusual. You do realise that it won't work."

Corvo rose from his seat and took a few steps towards shore. The hermit crab scuttled away.

"Not even sailors like you can ask promises of the sea, but you do anyway...You pray that a storm won't break until you reach shore, or that the winds will blow in your favour. This is no different."

"What you're talking about is luck, and you're going to need plenty of it if you're doing what I think you're doing."

Corvo resisted the urge to smile at the disapproving-but-fatherly tone Samuel's voice had taken on. He considered his words carefully before he turned back to face the other man, who had the look of someone realising something dangerous is going to happen soon again.

"And what am I doing, Samuel? Other than trying my luck."

"That's exactly what you're doing if...If you're building a shrine for him."

At last, it was said. The tension in the air vanished into the salty breeze; resignation was sucked into the space left behind it like a vacuum.

Samuel sighed and Corvo was suddenly aware of how old he was, and more deeply, of how old he himself was. They were both too old to be running around and keeping secrets...But the Abbey had returned to power fiercely, and the Overseers asked him difficult questions about the mark on the back of his hand.

"I have to, Samuel. I thought perhaps he would...Give me nightmares, or visions. But since that night, there's been nothing. Just...Silence."

Samuel made an agreeable and satisfied sort of sound and had another swig of whiskey. _How long has he been taking a page from Trevor Pendleton's book?_

"Sounds about right to me. Don't go looking for trouble if it don't go looking for you."

"I'm worried he might go after Emily."

Samuel's sense of satisfaction evaporated. Another swig of whiskey later, he fixed Corvo with a steady look.

"Now why would he do that? She's just a child."

"Not for long. Who knows his reasons...Why did he pick me, out of a whole city?"

Samuel fidgeted with the flask and Corvo noted for the first time that a name and caption had been etched on the side. For a moment, Corvo felt the back of his neck prickle, as if he was being watched. He absently scratched the mark on the back of his hand and Samuel pointedly ignored the gesture.

"The way I see it, it'd be easier to get blood from a stone. You ain't gonna make that smug-faced brat give you his word on anything. I say let it alone."

"I can't risk that! What if he's already making plans for her-"

"He makes plans for everybody. Look, if he wants something to do with her, there's not gonna be anything you can do to stop him...You've just got to hope, and pray for good luck."

"Dunwall hasn't seen good luck for years."

There was a squeak as Samuel tightened the lid of his flask, then a quiet groan from the branch (or perhaps his bones) as he got up and crunched across the shingle to where the boat was moored. Just before he started the engine, he turned back to face Corvo. How grim the Lord Protector looked even in these more hopeful times.

"I wouldn't say that, Corvo...Just havin' you around to straighten things out-I don't know what to call that other than good luck. You coming back?"

Corvo was caught off guard by that and he fussed with the bone charm again.

"No...I'll make my own way back. Thank you for the offer."

"No problem." Samuel replied easily, as though the last hour had not happened. "Don't get lost out here though." He added before firing up the engine. The boat moved smoothly away, sunlight flashing off the metal hull.

It didn't take long for Samuel to disappear from both sight and hearing. Corvo made himself move from where he had been standing stock still; the muscles in his calves ached quietly and his shoulders were still tense. Waves lapped gently at the toes of his boots.

_Just havin' you around to straighten things out-I don't know what to call that other than good luck._

Samuel's words echoed back in his mind. Was he right? Was it good luck that he had survived, and that the Empress (gods rest her soul) had perished? Was an assassin truly of more use to an ailing city than all of the doctors and watchmen and citizens and fishermen the plague had claimed?

His attention was stolen away by the bone charm he still clutched. He had ignored it's chirps and murmurs whilst Samuel had been there, but now they niggled at him, catching just under his skin like fishermen's hooks.

_Don't get lost out here._

Corvo looked at the charm again and nearly went to crush it under his boot. Just before he did so though, he thought better of it, and hurled it out to sea instead. It sunk beneath the waves without a sound.

He waited for some sound of disapproval and when there was none, gathered energy in his left hand and blinked back towards the Tower.


End file.
